


Afraid of the dark

by BenegodCumberchrist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark, Other, RIP me, Rape, forced rape?, is that a thing?, no one asked for this but here it is anyway, sorry for writing this, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenegodCumberchrist/pseuds/BenegodCumberchrist
Summary: Everyone has a past. Some are just darker than others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is very fucked up. Do not read if you aren't okay with reading detailed rape scenes, gore, strong language or child abuse. I was writing this on a whim, and I just let it take me where it ended up. I feel really gross right now for even writing this. Rape isn't okay, and by the way, in case you didn't know, this is a work of fiction. Don't judge me for this I wrote it a year ago when I felt edgy, so yeah. This is your warning, I don't want to hear anything about someone getting mad. I have many warnings.

There are a few things I haven't been able to repress from my childhood. Out of everything I've been through, the worst stuff tends to never stay buried.

I remember my father hitting my mother. He would smack her across the face, then a few minutes later, he would be crying. Begging her to stay. He would tell her that he wouldn't do it again.

He always did.

I guess that's why I have trust issues.

Probably.

My mother was no better. She would come home at one in the morning, drunk out of her mind. That's when he would get really mad.

I sometimes wonder what came first. My father's abuse, or my mother's alcoholism.

The chicken, or the egg.

When my mother finally did leave, she forgot something. Me.

She told me she would come back.

I didn't believe her.

Again, probably why I have the trust issues.

I can remember my father's girlfriend who was around 16, talking to me about love. I had asked her if she was in love with my dad, and she had said to me, "Honey, love is something that won't get you very far in life."

That night, I heard my father fucking her in the next room. I heard her crying for him to stop. I heard her sobbing. I heard her calling my name. "James! Help me!"

I didn't do anything to stop him.

He was a 40 year old man.

She was only 16. I have no idea what she saw in him. It certainly wasn't money.

The next morning she had left, and I never saw her again.

She wasn't the first of his 'girlfriends'. I knew my father as a woman's man. He was a heartbreaker.

I remember one night, he showed me how to be good with women.

How to be like him.

"Son, look at this bitch," he had said.

I stared at the naked teenager, whose makeup was running down her face.

"I tied her to the bed, because I was going to fuck her."

She cried out no. She told him to stop.

"I think that you should have her. You're 14. She's hot. I think you should do it."

I simply nodded.

"I'll leave. Have fun." My father was smiling as he pat me on the back.

She was begging me to stop. Her eyes were filled with fear.

Before my dad closed the door, he told me I should be rough with her. He said I should cause pain.

So when I took my clothes off, and she struggled against my grip, I slapped her. Just like my father had done to my mother.

Because if I didn't, he would have done worse. I was trying to help.

I grabbed her by the waist and she screamed.

"I'm sorry," I had whispered.

I remember hearing her say, "Please! Stop!"

I had shushed her, as I emotionlessly moved in and out.

Although the door was closed, I swore I had heard a chuckle from my father.

It was very repetitive.

I would go in.

She would scream.

I would pull out.

She would beg me to stop.

I would go harder and faster.

She would cry.

In the end, I had enjoyed it.

I think that was when I started to lose my humanity.

Perhaps it was the next girl my dad had brought me.

Maybe the one after that.

You know, I think it could have been those girls that I fucked at the same time.

Yup. That was probably when I stopped feeling.

Because if I let myself feel, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself.

I won't admit it to most people, but their voices still haunt me.

The pleasure they got.

It made them feel guilty.

I know they felt that.

Rape didn't feel good emotionally, but physically, your body betrayed you.

They felt like it was their fault. It was mine. They didn't rape themselves. It was me.

I could have told my father no.

I could have been different.

Still damaged, but not this.

Not a monster.

Every month, he would ask me if I was looking forward to the girls he brought me.

I would lie and say yes.

I didn't want him to beat me.

I was so selfish.

During my teenage years, I was fighting a constant battle between myself.

I would find a cat and I would cut it open. I would try to see it suffer for as long as possible.

It was just a game.

Carl Powers laughed at me.

He was just a game too.

Sherlock was like me.

But it was all still a game.

Repeating the same level.

Beating it every single time.

My father would have been proud.

I remember seeing a girl tied up to a chair, semen on her chest.

My father's.

He wanted to watch me fuck her.

I had told him no.

And he knocked me out cold.

It wasn't the first time he touched me. He was crazy. He didn't care if it was his son.

I deserved it. I deserved to be touched, the same way I touched all those girls.

I deserved it.

I deserved much worse than what I got.

I didn't want this, but neither did they.

So I didn't make a sound as he put his dick into my mouth.

Just as I had done to those women.

Monster.

I did what I had to do in order to survive.

Rapist.

I didn't want to fuck them.

Psychopath.

I didn't ask to be born.

Insane.

I wish I wasn't.

Those were what the girls called me. While I fucked them.

I didn't fuck them.

I raped them.

That was much worse.

I was at a loss.

"It's about time for a change," I thought, while my father laughed as I spit out the bad taste.

The taste of semen.

My father's.

That night, I did what I should have done a long time ago.

I packed my bags and left.

I've never touched a woman in a sexual way since.

I still think about the girls. I remember every one of them.

And I regret them all.

So when I left, I tried to forget, that's when I started crime.

Crime as in murder.

I would never-

I could never rape anyone again.

It made me angry.

I've only been back to that house one time since I escaped.

To do something I should have done when I still lived there.

I killed my father.

I killed him nice and slow too.

Dug the knife right into his skin.

Needles into his cornea.

His bloody eyes, blinking madly as he tried to see what I was going to do next.

I pulled his pants down and saw the disgusting thing in-between his legs.

I made sure I spent time taking that apart.

I don't remember when he died exactly.

It was all a bit of a blur.

Maybe around the time I cut his testicles with a razor blade.

Most likely.

I felt proud of my handiwork.

My father, to die at my hand.

Good.

It took me a while, but finally I was able to kill my monster.

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

**Author's Note:**

> This is fucked up, no need to tell me twice. I regret writing this, but I rarely finish stuff so I'm not sure if I should post this or not. If you're reading this, I probably ended up posting it, and now you're scared of me. (I promise I'm normal-ish.)
> 
> Umm so if you liked that, why don't you read some of my less fucked up fics? Hahaha... Ha. 
> 
> Ha.
> 
> Seriously though, I have no idea what I wrote. It just happened.


End file.
